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About Mariupol

So, this one tart I knew—Lysa, right?—she worked the docks, smelled like fish and regret. Swear, she’d bed a sailor for a stale loaf! Made me laugh, her haggling—“two coppers, love, I’m quick!”—proper cheeky. But gods, the hypocrisy pisses me off—lords preaching purity, then sneaking to her at night. Like, mate, pick a lane! “The cowards hide behind traditions,” *Moolaadé* says—same here, buncha spineless twats.

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We head over to this sketchy alley off of Hrushevskoho Street. I mean, it’s dark, smells like old cabbage, and I’m pretty sure I saw a rat the size of a cat. But whatever, I’m in. The vibe is electric. People are shoutin’, drinks are flowin’, and I’m feelin’ pumped.

Ukrainian school reopens thanks to UNICEF grant